


take me apart and i'll flow like water

by pinuspinea



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Edging, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kissing, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Song: Quartet at the Ballet (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Strong Woman/Weak Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinuspinea/pseuds/pinuspinea
Summary: At the ballet, Anya catches a glimpse of a very familiar face. She is filled with righteous fury, but there is something else alongside her fury once she has managed to corner Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov all alone.
Relationships: Anya | Anastasia Romanov/Gleb Vaganov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	take me apart and i'll flow like water

**Author's Note:**

> So did I just literally walk into a fandom three years late with porn? Yes, yes I did. You all can blame Pure Anon for dragging me here and for getting me way too emotionally invested in Glenya.
> 
> (Yes I know this isn't the 30k Ash has planned, but it's better than nothing, okay?)

The opera house is more beautiful than anything she has seen during the ten years of her life she can remember. Anya looks all around, her eyes hungry for the beauty that so reminds her of St. Petersburg, and then, her eyes catch something familiar in the crowds.

It takes her a moment to realise what exactly caught her eye, and then her blood runs cold. Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov, one of Cheka's best, is subtly weaving his way towards the stairs to the upper floors. Anya swallows thickly and she follows Dmitry and Vlad's lead mutely, too stunned to act.

In their own box, they sit. Vlad and Dmitry's heads are close to one another. The men are whispering, and Anya can gleam that they are glancing in the direction of the Dowager Empress, but her eyes are searching the other boxes.

She searches, and eventually, she gleams his face again, and suddenly, rage floods her body and makes her shiver in those beautiful clothes of hers. How dare he follow them here? How dare he walk back into her life and try to stop her from reaching her dreams now that she is so close to finally solving the puzzle of her past?

Anya grinds her teeth and turns her eyes towards the stage as the first notes of the Swan Lake overture ring in the theatre.

She is far too aware of the way glances bounce on her skin. She knows Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov is not the only one to glance in her direction, but somehow, each glance seems to just irritate her more than the previous ones.

He should not be here. He should not be in this theatre tonight; he should not be back in her life. He should be in St. Petersburg where he belongs, where he cannot walk into her life ever again and try to turn it upside down.

Anya sits through the first act and claps where it's polite, but all throughout it, the only thing she can think of is the man in an ill-fitting suit and shoes that tell everyone who sees him that he is straight out of Russia.

Her rage does not let her go even though the boiling calms down into a simmer. Anya politely excuses herself as the curtain is lowered and the lights lit up, and with her jaw set, she starts climbing towards where he has been sitting.

He is not really looking at where he is going, and that is how she manages to surprise him. For a man who is supposed to be one of the best officers the Red Army had to offer, he is quite easy to pull into a cloak closet and then harshly press against the back wall.

"You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Deputy Commissioner Vaganov," she growls harshly and shoves him a little tighter into that back wall of the cupboard. Only somewhat halted breathing answers her. She can feel the way he twitches just, and with the power of her anger, she settles against his back and pushes his face and body snugly against the wall.

"I've come to take you home," he manages to barely stutter. Anya lets out a small laugh.

"Back to St. Petersburg?" she hisses into his ear. "Back where I am just a poor street-sweeper without a place to stay during the night, where the streets are cold and cruel for girls like me? Back to the place where no one cares for me?"

"Paris is no place for a good and loyal Russian," he tries to say, but his begging voice is not nearly as strong as he thinks it is.

"We are both good and loyal Russians," she whispers in his ear.

"Stop playing this game, Anya!" he murmurs in that weak, light-headed voice of his.

"We both know it's not a game, _Gleb_ ," she whispers into his ear.

She pusses more harshly against him. Her lips are nearly touching his ear, and even though it must be uncomfortable for him, he does not even try to move away. Instead, he shudders weakly.

"I am this close to having my family back, Gleb," she tells him. "Nothing will stop me now."

"Anya, I beg you!"

"Do _not_ call me Anya, Deputy Commissioner Vaganov."

She feels the way he tenses and hears the way he gulps. The muscles of his back move underneath the slippery bodice of her dress. He shivers.

Anya is no longer pressing him nearly as harshly as before, but he remains tight against that wall, his hands pressed next to his head as if he was being arrested for crimes against the state. Anya runs her hand down the back of his neck and his arms, and she feels the involuntary way he moves underneath her.

With a jolt that makes her heart beat faster and faster, she realises how he is letting this happen, how he is not fighting against her at all, how he seems to want this. Her hand slowly moves along the muscles he keeps hiding underneath his clothes. He holds his breath.

There is a gun strapped underneath his shoulder, but he does not even try to get it. Instead, he shivers violently as her hand runs down his side and comes to rest on his stomach.

He moans, and immediately, that moan is half-aborted. Red spreads down his neck like the bright communist flag, and an idea is already forming in Anya's mind.

Who is she to not follow her wicked impulses? Who is she not to play the villain, if he so keeps on insisting that she is one?

She pushes her hand lower and rests it on the belt of his trousers, and she finds what she has been looking for. He is already hard, his cock straining against his trousers, and he is breathing much too quickly and shivering and trying to move away, but Anya squeezes him through his straining pants and he half-moans again.

She holds her hand very still and squeezes him harder, and he gets the message and stills.

For a moment, they stand like that, locked in a battle of wills. Neither dares to move, and even their breaths come to a halt. Anya knows that she could very easily slip away from the cupboard now, her message understood loud and clear, but she also likes the idea of putting this Cheka officer down a few pegs. Ever since she met him, he has always tried to control her. Why should she let him do that, when she can show him just how little control he truly has?

That is why she lets her other hand travel down his body. She takes her time, letting it feel each contour of his muscled body, caress him slowly and sensually, and eventually, it reaches his belt and the buttons of his trousers. He has stopped breathing.

Her hand slips almost impossibly easily into his trousers, and the whimper he lets out is like a symphony to her as he takes in big gulps of air.

Her hand is still glad in that long white opera-glove, and when she slides it along his length, the passage is smooth. His breathing, however, is not. He is taking in half-aborted breaths and he sounds like he is desperately trying to stay quiet. He is so completely undone by this simple touch. The man who stood in his office in front of the window has once again become the nervous man whose hands twitched helplessly and tried to straighten out the hair that was already curling from the confines of its pomade. Gone is that certainty he had in his voice just moments ago, replaced by this submissive boy who does not even dare to turn around and properly accept her caress.

"Not so powerful now, are you, Deputy Commissioner?" she whispers into his ear and lets her lips glide along his neck. She breathes slowly and lets her tongue run along his ear and the back of his neck. He whimpers, and it's not clear whether it's because of her lips that roam his neck or the hand that glides along his cock.

It's so easy to slip him out of his underwear, and the breathy moan he lets out is music to her ears. She smiles against his neck and feels him gulping for air.

"If only your commanders could see you now," she whispers and looks in wonder as his face flushes even harder. He looks desperate and at the same time, her words just make him more desperate. He is trying to thrust against her hand, trying to get some friction, but she does not allow for it. She squeezes him hard, and he nearly whines in desperation. "Such a pretty boy," she murmurs in wonder. "I wonder if you'd do what I tell you to do just to get a little more."

His mouth opens and he pants as he hears that.

" _Anya_ ," he whines.

She squeezes his cock hard enough that it makes him crumble underneath her, and she scratches his neck with her teeth. He is leaking precum onto her gloves as she squeezes his body tighter against the bodice of her dress, against her own chest that rises with quick and shallow breaths.

"You should obey your betters, Deputy Commissioner Vaganov," she tells him harshly. "Did I not tell you that you are not supposed to call me by that name?"

He is almost undone and completely lost in that haze of lust, and he nods frantically as he murmurs half-sobbed apologies. Anya looks at him, and finally sees that he has been driven as mad as he has been driving her.

The power of having him taken down a few pegs is sweeter than any wine she has ever tasted. He is whining and begging, pushing hard against the wall and her hand, and she wants him crawling on his knees in front of her.

Once the idea enters her mind, it cannot be pushed away.

"Good boys do not beg, Gleb," she whispers into his ear. "But perhaps you can persuade me to forgive you."

"Anything," he shivers violently. A curl smiles on Anya's lips.

"On your knees, then."

He follows the order with a soldier's precision. Her hand has slid up his body almost automatically, and now it rests on his throat. It's not difficult at all to squeeze around it and feel his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly, but there are other, far more pleasurable things that exist rather than squeezing the air out of his lungs.

She tugs at his hair and pulls him along. With a quick glance at what would be the most comfortable, she rests herself on a ledge in the wall and starts gathering her heavy, beaded skirts.

He looks up at her with feverish eyes, and as soon as he realises what she wants, he is quick to help gather her skirts. He dives against her thighs as if he was drowning, and with one smooth pull, he pulls her underwear out of the way.

It is Anya's turn to hold her loud moans as he kisses the skin of her inner thighs and finds her core, and then he kisses and nibbles and licks as if he was a man that had been denied such pleasures for far too long. He nibbles and licks and sucks and makes her shiver. Her hands leave her skirts, but the beaded fabric does not fall to cover his body, so heavily she rests on his shoulders. Her hands find his hair, his far too smooth hair, and she squeezes his head closer to herself. Precum soaks into those dark locks and dishevels him as he does his best to beg for Anya's forgiveness.

His own hands are not idle, either. She feels something poking at her entrance, and with one quick move, his fingers push inside her. Anya gasps and squeezes his face against her harder, and he fucks her with his fingers and tongue and she does not let him get up for air, but forces him to give her pleasure until voiceless sobs wreck through her body and she can only gasp for air.

He prolongs her daze the best he can, and she curls up tighter against him, nearly suffocating the man between her thighs. Her hands let go of that death grip she had on his hair, and he kisses the inner seam of her thigh where her socks squeeze against her thighs.

Their eyes meet. While hers are heavily hooded and pleased, his are feverish and begging.

"May I kiss you, mademoiselle?" he asks in a shaky breath.

Anya's head nods as if it had a mind of its own, and then he is quick to attack her mouth.

It's an odd taste, she realises first. She can taste herself on his lips. Then, she realises how nice that kiss feels, and only then does she feel that straining erection that is grinding against her stomach. He grinds against her body, and his kiss is almost as desperate as it was when his lips rested against another opening of hers. It takes a while to catch her breath, but she is not too keen on letting him win this battle, and attacks his mouth with the same intensity he is giving hers.

Somewhere, the bells ring to announce the end of the intermission. He is so desperately kissing her that he does not even notice it, and that gives her a wicked idea. What would he do, if she left him as frustrated and flustered as he has left her?

She pushes him underneath her, and he gladly accepts it, just hungry for more kisses and some friction. She fondles him and strokes him, and his kisses become messier.

How easy it is to make him whine and keen, how easy to unravel him when he has been so stern beforehand! Anya nearly drowns in his kisses and she accepts each thrust into her gloved hand as she swallows the small noises he makes.

She squeezes and rubs him until he is about to burst at the seams, and then, just as quickly as she started it, she steps away from him.

"Enjoy the rest of the show, Gleb," she says with a delighted smirk on her cheeks.

"Anya –!"

"And remember that good boys ask for permissions, Deputy Officer Vaganov."

It's so very easy to slip out of that cloak closet and quickly rush towards where her seat was. Anya looks at the stains on her opera gloves, and desire grasps at her stomach again, but the bell rings insistently and reminds her that she must go back.

She cannot quite cover the smile on her face as she returns to the box.

"Where were you?" Vlad hisses furiously and looks at her. "You could have mingled and gained more interest from the Dowager Empress!"

Anya quickly hushes him, and she surreptiously glances around the theatre before the lights are turned low.

Above, a lone wanderer arrives just before the lights are dimmed. Anya catches his eye as he shamefully returns to his seat, and as if by some divine intervention, his eyes glean into her direction.

Anya smiles at Gleb, and he gulps visibly before the darkness falls.


End file.
